


Shortcut

by SaladThief



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Oneshot, Post events of Don't Starve, Tentacle battle, Tentacle gore, Wilson has an awful time, grossness, mentions of nausea, mild human gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 22:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaladThief/pseuds/SaladThief
Summary: Wilson decides to take a shortcut through the marsh, suggested to him by Maxwell, who was now a fellow survivor alongside him. However, the scientist encounters a particularly deadly foe near the swampy path. Will he survive to be able to tell Maxwell about how terrible this plan was? Or will he become a tentacle shish kebab?





	Shortcut

“Oh fuck!”

Of course, that’s what he wanted to say, but that one nagging voice at the back of his (allegedly) immense mind kept Wilson from saying it out loud. In fact, what he did say was comedically out of place for the mortal danger he was in.

“Oh fiddlesticks!” He yelped as he dove away from the jagged and sharp tusks of the swinging tentacle arm oozing its way out of the marshy floor. This was certainly the last time the scientist would take advice from Maxwell. 

“The swamp is a better shortcut back to camp,” he told him. “If you stay close to the path, the merms and such shouldn’t bother you.” 

“Bullshit”, he again uttered in his thoughts. Even though he was in the same position as Wilson in the constant these days, the bastard was so conceited that he thought any advice he gave was as good as gold. Obviously, he was misguided. Bull! Shit! Bullshit to you, brain Maxwell.

Unfortunately, Wilson had no time to berate the man from the safety of his own conscience as another swing from the horrific abomination whisked over his quickly ducking head. Part of him always wondered where the hell these arms ended at, but that same nagging voice told him that he probably didn’t want to know. It’s not like he had much time to ponder it anyway. He just had to make like a tree and leaf, he mused to himself.

The bubbly gurgle from underneath the uncomfortably squishy ground beneath his feet gave Wilson a squeamish twinge in his gut, but he tried to ignore it as he dove for the spear he had dropped in his previous bout of blind panic. To his horror, he realized it was slowly sinking into the semisolid gunk packed into what Wilson loosely referred to as the swamp floor. Still, at this point in his life, he had been through enough grossness to desensitize himself to sticking his fingers into unknown substances. He yanked the spear out from the floor, and the gunk slurped back into place with a wet ‘pop’. The sudden release of tension sent the spear flying back and away from the scientist’s grip once again. It was already slippery from being coated with slimy swampscrement (swamp excrement), not helping the situation at all. Wilson looked over in mild defeat and frustration as it landed against the ground once again with a sloshy thud. “Well, isn’t that just grea-“

A swipe of a tentacle beneath his feet sent Wilson tumbling face-first into the greasy floor, and he let out a disgusted yelp muffled by the gunk squeezing around his cheeks. He quickly pulled his face out from the slime and instinctively rolled towards his left. He was just in time as well, since the writhing tentacle impaled the ground to what was now Wilson’s immediate right, and what would’ve been his heart and lungs. “This,” he panted as he quickly pushed up to his feet, “Is a slippery situation!” 

The tentacle seemed almost less amused than it already was upon hearing Wilson mutter that out, and with a disturbing gargle, it thrashed about wildly. 

“Everyone’s a critic!” 

Wilson dove back for the spear again, his fingers desperately grasping for the wood as a different tentacle deftly wrapped around his ankle. 

“Oh Sh-iiiiAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Now being hoisted up in the air with little more than a wet bubbling as a warning, Wilson was tugged upside down and into the air.

“Okay, now this is just unfai-…”

He glanced over at the other one now that the gunk around his eyes slipped off enough to allow him a clear look. He saw that it was positioning itself like a spear, ready to impale. Wilson’s breath hitched in his throat as he swung himself to the left, causing it to miss by a mere few inches, impaling the one behind him. It uncoiled from his ankle, causing Wilson to slam into the marshy floor once again with a sloppy plop. He sat up in time to watch the sister tentacle writhe in agony and eventually fall limp around the other’s stiff arc, and it slipped out from it with a wet glunk. He laughed in the midst of this victory, causing his original assailant to once again become focused on him. 

His face fell immediately. “Not agai- GHHH!!!”

The tentacle wrapped around both his legs, slowly tugging him closer and dragging him across the slippery ground. Wilson was sure he’d never been this filthy in his entire life. Not even when he tried that one unfortunate farming experiment with a beefalo and a pitchfork. He groaned as he was slowly tugged up again, feeling queasy from being thrown around as carelessly as some 3-year-old’s ragdoll. The tentacle slowly began coiling up the length of his legs and waist, and he could feel the murderous appendage tighten around him, nearly forcing the breath out from his diaphragm. 

Being crushed to death was one thing Wilson didn’t feel particularly excited to experience. He figured a better death might have been suffocating under the marshy floor… maybe that would have at least provided him a more peaceful release. It would be slightly more dignifying than being turned into a crushed slop by something that didn’t even have the guts to face him head-on. He closed his eyes, wondering if the process would be quick if he just focused on something pleasant… he’d have to make a happy place.

…All he could think of though, was Maxwell’s smug, guiltless grin flashing back at him through the dark recesses of his mind. That bastard… this was all his fault. It suddenly occurred to Wilson that the least dignifying thing in the whole world would be to die in part by Maxwell’s hands (or in this case, his awful awful advice). Oh, that would be the worst way to go out for sure. And if he died here, Wilson pondered, then he wouldn’t have an opportunity to smack that grin off his face in revenge.

Through the invigorated power of pure pettiness, Wilson’s inner willpower was returned to him tenfold. He writhed around in the creature’s grip, using the slime coating its weirdly leathery skin to rip an arm free from its ever-increasing coil. His hand felt along the length of the tentacle available to him, scratching at it vainly with eyes squeezed shut in the pain of being slowly crushed to death. 

Suddenly though, an Idea occurred to him. An idea that made his stomach preform what felt like backflips in his gut, but it was one that he was certain would save his ass. Wilson opened his eyes, scanning the sickly violet flesh surrounding him for something specific. Much to his glee, he found what he was looking for. Without a second thought, Wilson’s hand traced over towards one of the clusters of spots dotting the monster’s flesh, causing the tentacle to still and shudder confusedly, before roughly digging his fingernails into it. The rubbery flesh beneath his hand was much softer than the rest of the creature’s body, and it tore slightly, causing pinkish-violet blood to seep through the areas between his fingers. 

The creature shuddered again in this time what was obviously immense pain, and actually began squeezing Wilson tighter in its deathly grip. Wilson bared his teeth in pain and determination as he dug his nails in deeper, and he gripped onto the flesh tightly before yanking it away, ripping off a chunk of the creature’s spots. More of its sickly-colored blood sprayed out unceremoniously, coating Wilson in it before it shuddered in horrific agony and eventually dropped him back onto the marshy floor. Wilson gasped a large puff of air into his burning lungs now that his chest was no longer being compressed. He rolled over to cough up some blood of his own afterwards, and The bright red clashed harshly with the gunky floor and the pink insides of his previous attacker. He’d have to get that checked out later probably. His heart skipped a beat as he heard a wet hissing noise, but turned around only to see the hideous appendage slowly slip back into the mud and into the unseen oblivion whatever its owner occupied. 

Now that he was sure he wasn’t about to die, Wilson rolled onto his back to catch his breath, He was relieved in part by not being crushed to death, but most of his relief came from the fact that he would have ample opportunity to get his revenge on his fellow survivor. Wilson slowly got to his feet, chest aching with the pain of a fractured rib as he slowly shambled over to his spear and picked it up out of the muddy slurry it had been occupying for the majority of the battle. He held it up proudly towards the sky, letting out an invigorated call in the midst of his victory over the constant once again.

“Fuck you, Maxwell!!!”

And this time, he didn’t say Fiddlesticks.

**Author's Note:**

> Maxwell got yelled at for sure.
> 
> Also, This was my first fanfiction. Ever. I really like Don't Starve though, so I decided I might as well make some at some point. I'm working on more at the moment!


End file.
